Oh. Shit.
“Javier is not here, Voyt, and with Carver unavailable, we had no idea that Javier had any living family. He did not speak of himself very often,” John says, and he seems to be bracing himself for the next blow he has to deliver.
“Javier injured and kidnapped a woman in my care, and tried to murder Carver. In fact, Carver is still healing from his wounds and has not regained consciousness. We discovered Javier was in league with Iva, divulging secrets. He also consumed the hearts of several combatants in battle. I hate to tell you this, but he had turned Revenant, and he was dispatched,” John says, trying to gently break the news of Javier's passing to the two stone-faced men at Voyt’s back.
“Are… are you sure of this?” Voyt asks.
“Yes, I am afraid I am.”
“Did you dispatch him?” ponytail – err – Segundo asks looking murderous. John opens his mouth to answer but is interrupted by my big-mouth of a sister.
“No, he did not. I did. I am also the woman he stabbed and delivered to Iva,” Aurelia says, her voice even, her eyes unwavering. She does not feel remorse, nor should she, but she also doesn’t show weakness. I admire her and want to kick her right in her fool shin. Especially when Segundo and Guillermo exchange a look and go silent.
“I understand why you might be angry with me, but make no mistake, I do not relish killing, no matter how good at it I may be. My sister is mated to a Wraith. My best friend is a Wraith. I have been a part of the Black family for more years than I was a part of my own. They have sheltered me, protected me and helped me for most of my life. Iva’s assassination of so many is appalling, and it hurts my heart that so many Wraiths have been lost. I am sorry for your loss, but I will not apologize for saving my own life or the lives of those I prevented him from taking,” she says, her voice calm and empathetic.
Segundo and Guillermo look less than appeased, but they both nod all the same. I have a feeling we’ll see them later. I’ll be sure not to take any strolls in any dark alleys in the near future. Voyt – to his credit – notices this and his face goes from surprised to what I can only describe as ‘damage-control mode.’
“This news is upsetting. I-I wish to postpone our discussion after my Guardians can digest this information. Thank you for meeting with me. We will see ourselves out,” he says hurriedly. Voyt rises and walks to the door in a swift clip, Aidan follows, showing him out. The room is tense for a few more moments before my sister breaks the silence.
“So that was less than helpful,” Aurelia says.
“Oh, I don’t know. Voyt is smarmy, but less of the antagonistic asshole you all made him out to be, and I think he has no fucking clue that his Guardians are piles of shit,” I say, and Asher busts out laughing.
“It is so funny when you cuss, Princess,” Ash says, chuckling.
“I agree. Both with the funny cussing and the Guardian’s assessment. I still don’t quite trust him, though,” Olivia says, her smile broad and teasing, and I realize I have gained more approval from her. “You need to be careful, Ari-darling. I have heard stories of Segundo and Guillermo Cabal. They are not good men. I didn’t realize Javier was related to those two jackals. I wish Carver had told us about his family. From what I knew, Javier did not speak to his family after he took Carver as his husband. Silly prejudice, I know, but some people believe in the old ways. Those are the same people who will have issues with Evan claiming the throne without a husband,” Olivia says as she cups Evan’s cheek and looks into her eyes. “But we will change their minds, won’t we, my love.”
“Yes, Mama,” Evan croaks, and I get the distinct feeling Olivia is telling her goodbye, giving one last piece of advice, one last message to her precious daughter. Olivia’s face falls for a moment, but her smile comes back even if it trembles a bit.
I can feel it. My power was merely a band-aid for Olivia, and she has used it all up.
“I’m suddenly very tired. It has been an eventful and exhausting day,” Olivia softly says, and then shakily stands to leave. Her color has gone from lively to gray in an instant.
“I’ll go with you, Love,” John murmurs and stands, taking her hand and gently wrapping it around his crooked arm. They walk together out of the sitting room, and down the white, marble-floored hallway.
I feel it then, the overwhelming loss creeping into my soul, and I turn to look at my sister, her eyes are glowing bright, tears dripping from her face, sobs choking her staggered breaths. Rhys kneels in front of her, holding her hands and coaxing her out of what is most likely one of the worst things to see. Olivia has been a mother to Aurelia – the only real mother she’s ever had. My tears come then, for the loss these people feel and what was denied my sister from our family. For Asher, for Cam and Evan. For every life this delightful woman touched. For the loss these people feel, and my own. I barely met her, but there is no doubt Olivia was a wonderful woman, that I will never, ever get to know. Asher’s hands find me through the darkness of my tears, pulling me from the couch, wrapping me in a hug. We cling to each other in our shared grief.
Evan looks to us, but she doesn’t seem to understand. She had so much hope that I’d helped them, and this hits her like a sledgehammer. The look on her face when she sees Aurelia crying…
She knows.
She doesn’t wait to ask, she just smokes out of the room. When we hear her agonized wail a moment later, we know.
Olivia is gone.
22
Dust to Dust
ASHER
I have no idea what to do. I’m not sure anyone does.
I had followed West on his quest to find Evan with Cam trailing reluctantly behind me. It wasn’t far, just past the tree of life doors of the royal suite, but I hesitate before passing through them. I try to steel myself for what I know is just beyond, but I know there is no real preparation for death. It comes as a surprise to us all, whether we want it to or not. When Mena’s hand finds mine, I feel a small margin of relief before I gather the courage to walk into that room.
I wish I hadn’t. I wish I could never see what will now be burned into my brain.
Evan is crying – no, crying isn’t the right word. She is keening, great mutilated sobs filled with enough pain to burn us all. John has plopped on the chaise, Olivia draped, unmoving across his lap, and Evan… Evan is kneeling at John’s feet, clutching her mother’s still hand. She’s begging, pleading, promising everything in the world to get her to wake up.
This burns my soul with enough fire to consume me completely if I didn’t need to stay alive for Mena. Mena’s hand squeezes mine again, and she wraps those beautiful, strong arms around me because she knows. Evan might be losing her parents, but John and Olivia are like surrogate parents for every single person in this room. They took us in when we needed saving, or were cast out, or were unloved. They saved us all. I tug her into my arms tighter and rub my tear-stained face into her hair.
“Please, mama. Please… don’t leave me,” Evan haltingly pleads, but Olivia doesn’t answer her. That’s when John reaches down, and rubs a thumb under Evan’s eye, cupping her face with his free palm.
“Daddy. Please don’t go. Please,” Evan begs.
“Evangeline, my beautiful, strong, girl. We need to leave you now,” his voice barely above a whisper. “Stay strong. You can lead our people back into the light. You can do this, my dear. We love you, and we trust you. You are the best gift we have ever been given.” When his hand falls from her face, Evan loses it. We all feel the loss as soon as his last breath leaves his lips, but Evan… Evan can’t deal with the horrible agony bubbling up in her.
“No. No, no, no!” she screams moving from one parent to the next, grabbing their faces to check for life. She finds none. Evan can’t hold in her phase anymore, and that’s when all hell breaks loose. When Evan can’t hold in her anger or fear or agony, things around her turn to dust. And this… this is the worst kind of hurt. The floor beneath her feet abrades away, and a swirl of dust and smoke surrounds h
er like a tornado. Her coal black eyes turn vacant, and the floor and furniture near her begin to crumble.
West takes action, the only one of us brave enough to go toe-to-toe with Evan when she’s lost it. “Evan. Evangeline! You have to stop! You’ll send them to hell without meaning to. They don’t deserve to go!” he screams in her face, latching onto her arm and shaking her hard enough to snap her neck. She does a long, slow blink before her eyes regain their life, and then she rips her arm from his grasp and shoves him away with one small palm. No matter how tiny Evan is, she still made that one little shove count because not only has West gone back at least five feet, the place on his shirt where her hand touched is now bare, bleeding skin.
“I release you,” she whispers, and the occupants of the room, myself included, pull in a collective gasp. “You may stay for the funeral, but afterward, you will leave this house. I never want to see your face again. If you ever truly cared for me at all, you will honor this,” her command never rising above a murmur, but West hears every word and he nods. Even when her eyes go dead, he still nods and leaves the room.
* * *
Mena tells me funerals are awful for everyone, and they are never really for the dead. ‘Funerals are for the living,’ she says.
I guess that’s true, but I still hate them.
The preparation for the funeral has been exhausting over the last twenty-four hours, and Mena, Aurelia, Rhys and myself have been handling the bulk of it. Many families needed to be called, and since Olivia and John were actually good souls, security required a little amping up since Phoenixes would be here as well.
Evan asked both Aidan and Cam to be her new Guardians. They accepted immediately, Cam faster than I thought he would. His tie to Olivia may just transfer to Evan now.
Wraiths from every corner of the earth have come, and as soon as the sun begins to set on this very long day, we can send Olivia and John to their rest. So many have gathered in the gorge at the base of the cliff where we can stay concealed from human eyes and all be in one place at one time. A few witches Aurelia know offered to do a concealment spell for the event, but Mena nixed it, saying the magic could interfere with the passage of the souls. She would know. Mena worked as a Gentry for nearly a century before her capture, working with humans as either a nurse or a mortician, helping the neutral and good pass on.
Twenty-four straight hours of contacting families, making sure Evan was safe and ensuring that my wife and her family wouldn’t be murdered, led us here, to the bottom of the gorge, in front of so many Wraith families. They stand shoulder to shoulder, women in elegant evening dresses and men in suits, the river rushing around their legs, their gowns sweeping behind them in the water. The rest fill the shore, in the sand, on the rocks, filling the ravine to the brim.
Aurelia and Mena are in Phoenix ceremonial funeral garb. Snow-white, one-shoulder, Grecian-style gowns with enough clearance for their wings. Rhys however, is not in anything that would be considered formal. Instead, he is dressed – like me – in full tactical assault gear. Black shirt under a bulletproof vest, black pants and boots, and every single weapon we can carry. Rhys’ only concession in his vest is a missing back plate so his wings can burst free if needed. We follow our wives, staying close, but assessing threats from the crowd. It also helps that Ian is at the top of the cliff with a fifty-caliber sniper rifle.
One can’t be too careful.
Aurelia and Mena phase at the same time, the twins igniting as one, blood red and bright blue wings rising in sync from their backs. Aurelia’s are remarkably smaller than Mena’s until I remember that the feathers of Aurelia’s wings have been clipped. I try to keep the horror off my face at the mutilation – something I have heard of, but never actually seen – and avert my eyes back to the crowd before looking at my wife again. I know phasing is agony for Mena, but not a single peep falls from her lips. The twins move in unison to the bodies of the dead at the funeral pyre, Aurelia at John’s side, and Mena at Olivia’s. Evan smokes in at the head of the pyre with Aidan and Cam at her back and raises her hands to speak.
She asked me for help with the eulogy, but I directed her to Ian instead. Ian, while usually the joker, gives some of the best advice for someone so young.
“My mother gave me valuable advice over the years. She told me to never settle for a horrible haircut. She said if you could get away with wearing a higher heel, do it, but never be afraid of going barefoot,” Evan chuckles before her voice breaks. “She said when I have my own ch-children; to give them twenty percent more hugs than they request and twice as many as I think they’ll need. She also taught me how to be a strong woman. She taught me how to lead, how to be diplomatic, and instructed when not be. She is the voice in my head, my guiding star, and my conscience. My father, in turn, taught me to be a strong leader. He taught me when and how to fight and when not to. He taught me how to think and how to breathe. He, along with my mother will live in my heart for the rest of my days.”
Evan nods and then bends to kiss the wrapped foreheads of her parents, tears wetting the white, gauzy fabric before she backs away. I do my best to turn off my emotions, but I feel a heaviness when I swallow, and when I see my wife barely holding herself together, the lump in my throat grows. I allow myself one lone moment to grieve before swallowing it back. Evan nods to Aurelia and Mena, and they begin the funeral rites, murmuring the ancient language that guides the souls on. They then, run their fingers over their charge’s heads to their feet, ignited the silk wrappings and stacked wood of the pyre. The twins sweep their hands over the hearts of the dead, plucking glowing white ash from their still flaming chests, take a deep breath and blow the ashes, scattering them to the beyond.
The whole of the assembly bows as one to Evan, and then all but five, travel from the gorge back to their homes. Wraiths do not believe in congregating after a funeral, they believe in solitude and reflection and mourning. Of the five that stayed, three are known to me. Voyt, Segundo, and Guillermo.
Here we go.
The two I do not know – a man and woman – assess the threat of the seven of us from their positions in the water and travel hurriedly from the gorge. Voyt approaches Evan, bowing low, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil behind him. His Guardians do not mirror him, and the slight to Evan makes both Cam and Aidan growl through their fangs. Voyt rises and gazes back at his Guardians confused and more than a little embarrassed.
“Did you know, Voyt, that my mother was being poisoned?” Evan begins, her head tilted to the side as if she’s playing a stupid blonde when she is anything but. By his expression when he whips his head back to her, the answer is no.
“No. I did not. Olivia was beloved. I cannot imagine who would do something like that,” he says.
“I can. Because I know who poisoned her,” she says before she smokes out, traveling to the backs of Segundo and Guillermo. Her tiny hands hit their backs between their shoulder blades. Both men stand stock-still, eyes wide – frozen in pain.
“Oh, Voyt,” Evan calls, and he spins in the sand of the river.
“Your Guardians had a hand in it, along with their brother, Javier.”
“And who told you that?” Voyt questions, incredulous.
“I did,” a deep male voice calls from behind Evan, and Carver walks slowly into the glow of the flames.
23
I’ll Remind You
MENA
Carver is dressed in a sharp black suit, a dark eye patch over his right eye, barely visible underneath the heavy fall of his hair. He ambles slowly, his cane on the uneven ground making for slow going. Ian said he was still healing from the injuries Javier slashed into his flesh, and it shows. Carver leans heavily on the wood and silver cane; the silver knobbed handle intricately carved into a lion’s face, and the wooden shank a silky mahogany with a smooth ferrule.
“Javier was committed to his cause; I’ll give you that. I mean, who else but a sociopath would fake being gay, stage a falling out with his family and cut himself o
ff from his friends just for a fucking coup? A twenty-year-long coup. Commitment. Yeah, I’ll give him that,” Carver says bitterly, moving closer to this tense circle of frozen combatants.
“Like anyone should believe anything you say, viado,” Segundo spits, but he remains unmoving.
“Yes, because being gay makes me a liar. So you’re saying your brother wasn’t a viado?” Carver asks tilting his head, but Segundo says nothing more.
“It really doesn’t matter what you say or what lie you try to tell. I wouldn’t believe you anyway. Javier told me everything right before he attempted to rip out my heart and fucking eat it,” Carver informs them.
“So my question, Voyt,” Evan continues as if she were talking about her nail color and Carver hadn’t just dropped the mother of all bombs, “is whether you were a part of it. Your face says no, but Javier had me fooled, so I’m not so sure.”
“But I didn’t! I didn’t know. I was just going to talk to your mother about introducing us because you were unmated and I saw you at an art gala in Denver months ago. I swear. Segundo and Guillermo have only been my Guardians for less than a year,” he pleads hands raised in surrender.
“I’ll take that into consideration, but the rumor was that you were recruiting for a war. What war were you planning to start now that Iva has been taken out, Voyt?”
“I was not recruiting to start a war. I was sending aid to families and preparing for the eventuality of further attacks. That is not recruiting, that is being a competent leader. It is making sure our people are taken care of.”
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